Page 66 of Pack Frenzy
Back at the cabin, we unload—postcard on the mantle, honey on the counter, Churro the penguin perched on the fruit bowl like he owns the place.
We throw together quick sandwiches and water, change into layers because of coastal evenings, and I can’t part with Cassian’s hoodie, so I pull it back on over myclothes.
Then we head out again, lighter and a little giddy.
By the time the boardwalk lights flicker on, dusk has softened the sky to shades of lavender and deep indigo.
The fair blooms to life at the far end of the pier, Ferris wheel spinning lazy circles against the darkening sky, bulbs pulsing pink and blue and tangerine. The air thickens with the scent of sugar and salt and something electric—anticipation, maybe, or possibility. The sense that the night could go anywhere from here.
Music drifts toward us, tinny and nostalgic, the kind of carnival songs that sound like childhood even if you never went to a carnival as a kid. I ache with it, with wanting. With how much I want to ride the Ferris wheel and eat too much cotton candy and scream on the rides like I’m someone who gets to have uncomplicated joy.
Rowan falls into step beside me, hands in his jacket pockets, his shoulder brushing mine every few steps. The contact feels intentional, like he’s testing boundaries, gauging how close he can get before I tense, but I don’t. I let it happen, pretending it’s nothing, even as every nerve in my arm lights up with the truth.
Eli hums under his breath, already scanning the lights ahead like he’s found something worth chasing. “First one to the Ferris wheel buys the funnel cake,” he calls over his shoulder, and takes off running before any of us can protest.
“That’s cheating!” Cassian shouts, but he’s running too, long strides eating up the distance between them.
Rowan raises an eyebrow in a silent question.Well?
I grin and take off after them, the boardwalk blurring beneath my feet, cool air stinging my lungs. Laughter spills out of me, helpless and free, and behind me I hear Rowan following,his footsteps steady and sure. I know without looking that he’s matching my pace, that he won’t let me fall behind. None of them will.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t want to run away.
I’m tired of running. I just want tofall into this—into them, into the possibility that maybe I get to keep it. That maybe, finally, I get to stay.
CHAPTER 16
JESS
Music drifts from the carousel, bright and a little warped by the breeze. Then we cross some invisible threshold, and the fair hits all at once: bells clanging, a kid screaming-laughing until he hiccups, grease popping in a fryer somewhere close.
Even the air goes thick with caramel, salt, and hot oil, powdered sugar dusting everything it touches. It’s loud and layered and exactly the right kind of too much.
I breathe through my mouth. Taste sugar and salt on my tongue.
“Come on,” Cassian says, grin turned up to eleven, already pulling me toward the gate. He buys a fistful of tickets, presses half into my palm, deals a strip each to Eli and Rowan, then tucks the leftovers into his back pocket.
The strip flaps like a tail behind him as we walk, and something about his easy enthusiasm makes my own smile feel less borrowed.
We start with a coaster that creaks like it has union hours and isn’t happy about overtime. Cassian insists on the front car and throws his hands up at the first drop, yelling like a dare. I scream—half terror, half exhilaration, wholly unprepared for how good it feels to justlet go.
The descent hits my stomach and my brain, and I’m laughing before my lungs catch up.
Somewhere in the climb to the second hill, his hand settles on my thigh. Not a grab. Not a question either. Warm, solid, the kind of touch that saysI’m heremore thanmine.
My heart kicks against my ribs—too fast, too eager, too honest about what this means. He starts to move it away—gentleman instincts sparking late—and I lay my hand over his, fingers threading between his knuckles.Stay.
His gaze cuts to me, lashes lifting slowly, and the smile that spreads there is private and wrecking at the same time.
We rattle into the station and climb out grinning like idiots, hair whipped into chaos.
“Again?” he asks.
“Obviously.” My legs wobble, but I’m not sure if that’s the ride or the phantom warmth of his palm still burning against my thigh.
We stagger into rounds two and three. By then, my voice is a rasp, and my stomach is composed of fifty percent cotton candy smell by osmosis.
When the cars screech back for the fourth time, Rowan’s leaning against the exit rail, arms folded, watching like he planned for exactly this moment.
